Full Circle
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Mark avoids an afternoon in Pasadena.


Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no profit from them.

Rated: K

**Author's Notes**: Thanks to Owl, for finding me the oath for an officer of the court, and to Joni, who started us all off on the search for envelopes and oaths. Now, it appears, we all got our Borg implants at the same outlet mall, and you'll get two takes on the swearing-in ceremony in the same week. But, heck, we've already got the guy married to two women and back in the car trailer with a third, so these two alternate versions of that ceremony shouldn't be all _that_ hard to deal with ;-)

Many thanks to the betas, Cheri and Owl.

**Full Circle**

By L. M. Lewis

"No fuss," McCormick had said. "I mean, could you just do it in the den? Do we need a couple of witnesses or something? That's about it, isn't it? I just want to get on with my life," he added with weariness. "And I don't want to go over to Pasadena and stand there with a whole herd of other people and get sworn in."

The judge frowned at him, and looked down again at the invitation in his hand. "It's a ceremony. You earned it—"

"And I'm at least ten years older than most of the rest of them," McCormick muttered.

Hardcastle ignored that and pushed through to the heart of his argument. "And it _is_ important. It's an oath. You gotta promise to uphold the Constitution and all that."

This got him a grimace from the younger man. "Listen, Judge, I've known guys who would swear on their mothers' graves, and you couldn't trust it for spit. The oath's not what matters here."

"But you gotta take it. You gotta be sworn in as an officer of the court to practice law in the State of California. And it's gotta be on the record."

"But it doesn't say anywhere that I _gotta_ go to the Civic Auditorium and do the stand up-sit down thing with five hundred other people, does it?" Mark said, with the insistence of someone who knows his rights.

"Well . . . no," Hardcastle admitted. "It can be done down at the courthouse. Just need a judge." He folded the letter. "But I can't do it. I'm retired. I'd need some sort of special dispensation." He shook his head and frowned for a moment, then looked up, brightly. "I know. Mattie. She'd do it."

A fleeting look of what might have been disappointment crossed Mark's face, rapidly replaced with a smile at the mention of Mattie Groves. She'd always had a soft spot for McCormick and he surely knew it.

"Mattie'd be fine," he said. "Sooner'd be better than later."

"Heck," Hardcastle grinned, as he reached for the phone, "she could probably squeeze you in tomorrow. It doesn't take that long." He started to dial. "You're sure about Pasadena?"

Mark nodded once, with a smile that was still one part wistful, then edged out of the room to leave the judge to his arrangements.

00000

Over dinner there was only a passing remark from Hardcastle, in full compliance with Mark's request for 'no fuss'.

"She said one o'clock is fine, if that's okay with you?"

McCormick nodded, swallowed, and said, "Suppose that means a jacket and tie, huh?"

"Yeah," Hardcastle gave him a sharp look, "and you'd better get used to it."

"You got away with a Hawaiian shirt."

"Well, eccentric curmudgeon is not an entry-level position. You'll have to work your way up to it."

Mark nodded once more in reluctant agreement. The judge studied him unobtrusively. There was still an air of unease, as though the kid figured he needed to sneak into the legal profession through the backdoor. And, despite having amassed a more-than-credible transcript in law school, it seemed as though he hadn't expected to pass the Bar exam. And Hardcastle was certain that if he somehow hadn't, he would have figured it was his just deserts.

Mattie had sounded surprised at his request when he'd called this afternoon, but it hadn't taken much explanation before she was on board with some enthusiasm. "No fuss," she'd repeated with what sounded like a smile on the other end of the line. "You get him here and we'll get it done."

00000

It was a leisurely dinner, with nothing much on the agenda afterwards. They were watching a Lakers game when Frank stopped by, to pick up some files he'd been promised.

"Tomorrow'll be the big day, then, huh?" He grinned at Mark, as Milt went to fetch what had been requested.

"No fuss," McCormick repeated. "I just want to get it done, and get the office open next week."

"Three and a half years and you say 'no fuss'." Frank shook his head. "Hey, if you're gonna be downtown, you oughta at least let me take you guys out to dinner."

"Might be kinda early."

"All right, late lunch, couple a beers, whatever works."

The judge was back, files in hand. He handed them over and walked the lieutenant back out to the hallway. Mark listened to them talking, in low voices by the front door, not really audible above the TV. He was hard pressed to explain his attitude about this particular milestone. He knew it wasn't what he'd said to Hardcastle earlier. He intended to take every word of that oath seriously.

The best he could figure, when he turned it all over in his mind, was that it was an eerie superstition. He'd come so damn close to things before, only to have them vanish like phantoms once almost within his grasp.

But surely this one had weight and solidity to it—papers, signed and sealed. There only remained this one minor hurdle, but it had taken on all the portents of doom. So, perhaps it was an attempt to do an end-run around fate. Creep up on this thing quietly, and snatch it before he was even noticed.

He was almost oblivious when Hardcastle reentered the room, looking pleased with himself.

"What?" he asked, vaguely aware that he'd been talked to.

"I said, Frank'll be free for a late lunch tomorrow. You can stand that much celebration, can't you? I mean, you have to eat anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Mark smiled, trying to look nonchalant. After all, it'd all be over by then. A late lunch couldn't possibly jinx anything.

00000

McCormick was duly ready the next day a little before noon—suit, tie, and credentials. He offered to drive but Hardcastle over-ruled and pointed him toward the truck. There was little doubt in the judge's mind that, beneath the placid exterior, the kid was wound pretty tight, and Hardcastle knew the kind of driving that would relax McCormick would leave _him_ a nervous wreck.

There was the usual midday coming and going at the courthouse, with more people departing than arriving. They made their way against the tide, and through the security area, Mark looking his usual slightly unhappy self when entering this building.

_Time to get past that,_ Hardcastle thought.

A familiar face greeted them in the hallway on the second floor.

"Hey, Sid," the judge greeted his old bailiff, "when you gonna retire?"

"When they carry me out of here feet-first," Sid smiled. "But I'm supposed to give you a message," he added quickly. "Judge Groves says there's been a little snag; she'll be tied up. She tried to reach you earlier."

Hardcastle cast a quick glance over at Mark. There was no look of surprise there, maybe a shade of disappointment.

"Doesn't matter who," Hardcastle said quickly and he saw Mark nod in silent agreement, "Jenkins around?"

Sid shook his head. "Out for the afternoon. She suggested Judge Stoddard. He'll be free the soonest. That's why I came to find you."

Another look at Mark. His expression had gone unreadable. Stoddard would be an unfamiliar face for McCormick; they'd had no cases in front of him, but he did have Hardcastle's old courtroom and chambers on the third floor.

The judge waited for the smallest sign of agreement from the younger man, or at least acceptance. He finally got a small shrug and a murmured, "Let's just get it done."

Hardcastle grinned and said, "Least I know my way." But he allowed Sid to walk them to the elevator and off again one floor up. They went to the right, and as they approached the end of the hallway, Sid spoke again.

"He said you could wait in hi— ah, _your_, old chambers. This hearing should be done in a few minutes."

Hardcastle nodded and allowed Sid to precede them into the narrow side corridor. The bailiff unlocked the door and stepped aside to let them both through. Mark hung back a little, but finally followed along behind.

Hardcastle was surprised at the pang of familiarity the surroundings produced. The files were gone, and his own mementos all replaced with Stoddard's personal touches, but the feel of the place was the same—nothing gracious or elegant, a working judge's office. He'd spent the better part of twenty years in it; he knew every crack in the plaster, the way the bottom drawer on the right hitched if you filled it too full.

He walked in, and, almost without thought, went around to the chair behind the desk. There was only the slightest moment's hesitance before he sat down. Mark was still standing, just inside the door.

"Close it, will ya?" Hardcastle kept his voice low; they could still hear murmured sounds from the courtroom next door.

Mark did as he was asked, but still stood there a little stiffly with only his gaze roving over the small room. _Not familiar for him_, Hardcastle thought. _He was only in here that one time._

"Sorry," the judge grinned, "I'd offer you some peanuts but—"

This got a smile. Mark finally stepped in a little further, but he didn't take a seat. Instead he leaned casually against the desk, looking around a little more openly.

"I don't remember it very well," he finally said. "I was pretty angry, maybe I wasn't seeing too straight."

"Well, it's a little different. I had a trophy on that shelf." Hardcastle pointed at the bookcase. "And the file cabinets of course."

Mark looked and nodded. He half-hitched one hip on the edge of the desk. He wasn't facing the judge straight-on anymore. "How long you think they'll be in there?" he asked casually. "Maybe we should just come back tomorrow."

"Nah," Hardcastle said, and shook his head firmly. "We made the trip down, got all the papers, might as well get it done. No fuss, right?" he smiled.

Mark glanced over his shoulder and squinted for a moment, then looked back toward the door. "No fuss," he repeated quietly. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Do you miss it?"

The judge was momentarily surprised. He'd been thinking about the answer to that question before it had been asked. He eased back in his seat and put his hands together loosely in his lap.

"Sometimes," he answered simply. "Not so much that I would want it back." Then he frowned lightly. "Not that I think there's much chance of that, after what happened _last_ time."

Hardcastle was pleased to see that, four years removed, he could at least make indirect mention of Weed Randall without Mark looking like he was going to bolt. This time he got only a wry smile.

Then Mark looked down and away from him. He couldn't make out the expression any more, but his tone was suddenly more serious as he said, "You could get another appointment. They owe you." He shook his head in what looked like impatience. "Not a temporary one, either . . . I mean to fill a term vacancy."

The younger man was on his feet now, hands in his pockets, still looking away.

"I don't want that," Hardcastle replied. "I wouldn't mind filling in, in a pinch—"

"Not in that damn 'Sutter Annex'," Mark said with sudden, unexpected fierceness.

"Well," Hardcastle was still smiling, "I think they've got a little better security over there since then." His smile drifted down. He knew better than to joke about it, even now, not if he wanted to keep Mark from escalating into a rant that might interfere with the decorum of the courtroom next door.

"Anyway," the judge exhaled, "that's not what I want anymore."

"The law clinic," Mark looked up at him sharply, "it's _really_ what you want? You're okay with The Lone Ranger retiring and all?"

"Who said anything about that? I'm not hitching Silver to the plow. Lawyering can be plenty exciting sometimes, afternoons in the library, hunting down the missing precedent—"

"Rounding up stray witnesses, serving your own subpoenas," Mark added with a half-smile.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Maybe a little of that, too." Then he smiled and said, "A very smart guy once told me things change, but I think sometimes the more they change, the more they stay the same. I started out in this building as a lawyer—"

"Well, I started out as a defendant."

"Some change is good," Hardcastle shot back with a grin.

There was a tap at the door and the sound of the knob turning. Sid's face poked in. "They're ready for you now."

Mark had stiffened at the first sound of intrusion, and didn't move until the judge was on his feet, giving him a little nudge. This got him as far at the doorway, where he balked again.

"I'm gonna freeze up," he said, with a quiet note of panic. "I'll forget what to say."

"Nonsense," Hardcastle insisted. "You just repeat what you're told. You didn't memorize it, did you?"

"Well," Mark looked chagrined, "I read it a few times."

"Lord help us," the judge looked ceiling-ward and grabbed him by the arm, "new lawyers. They think they gotta know everything by heart." He had him in tow. Sid had stepped ahead again, and was opening the door to the front of the courtroom.

00000

It was probably a good thing the judge had him firmly by the arm. As the door opened, Mark took in a quick glimpse of altogether too many faces, and all of them familiar. Frank was just inside the doorway, holding something draped over his arm. Beyond him was a man in judges' robes, _must be Stoddard. _He and the clerk were about the only unidentifiable people in the room. Mattie was next to him, smiling broadly and ushering them in.

"Ready?" she leaned over and whispered into his ear.

He nodded once mutely and then turned toward Hardcastle, finally finding his voice for a low, muttered, "No fuss?"

"You'd rather be in Pasadena?" Hardcastle grinned.

"First things first," Mattie said with pleasant efficiency. "Mark, I think you'd better sit down. He was pushed in the direction of the prosecutor's table. "Milt," she leaned toward the older man and touched him lightly on the arm, "may I do the honors?"

"Absolutely," Hardcastle responded with a nod of the head.

"In that case, would you please raise your right hand and repeat after me . . ."

Mark listened, thunderstruck, as Milton C. Hardcastle swore to uphold the Constitution and discharge the duties of Superior Court Justice of the State of California. He couldn't help swallowing back down a lump of remembered fear. The last time he'd heard him do this had been the morning of the Weed Randall hearing.

Then that part was over, and Frank had stepped forward, shaking loose the robe he'd had folded over his arm, and helping Hardcastle slip it on.

"Might as well do it up right," the judge said, smiling, then he motioned to McCormick.

"You're up," Sid tapped his shoulder lightly, and Mark got to his feet, almost without realizing what he was doing.

Then he moved forward and had his right hand raised, as instructed, and was repeating the by-now familiar words about upholding the Constitution. He noted, with the part of his mind that was standing back and observing everything in utter disbelief, that Hardcastle wasn't using a crib sheet either.

And by the time they got to the part where he was to swear that he would "never seek to mislead the judges by any artifice or false statement of fact," he was smiling almost as broadly as Hardcastle himself was.

When they came down the straightaway and he said, "I will faithfully discharge the duties of an attorney and counselor at law to the best of my ability and in accordance with the ethics of the profession, so help me God," he let out a breath of happy relief.

There was a moment of silence before Hardcastle offered him a handshake and said, with a grin of absolute delight, "Congratulations, Counselor."

Mark's 'thank you' was heartfelt, though thoroughly bemused. Then there was applause, and congratulations, and a considerable amount of jostling and backslapping. Mattie handled the last bit of paperwork, and a general invitation was issued for lunch at Barney's Beanery.

By the time the last of the small crowd had dissipated, and he finally got to sit down again, he felt like he needed it. The judge had the robe off. Frank carted it away. Mark had tried not to look too closely, but he was pretty sure it was the one that had been in the hall closet the past four years—the one he'd had repaired after the Randall incident. _All right, that doesn't matter. We're past that._

He smiled wearily up at Hardcastle and said, "How'd you do it?"

The judge's grin had settled into what looked like a permanent smile. "Special dispensation," he said.

McCormick eyebrow went up.

"I know a couple of guys on the State Supreme Court pretty well. I asked last week, when you started making excuses about not going to Pasadena. I guess they figured they _did_ owe me something after that Randall thing . . . Maybe they were just grateful I wasn't looking for a full appointment," he added in a muse, half to himself.

"And the whole thing with Mattie?"

"Sorry," he said, not looking the least bit so, "we couldn't resist. And you were getting so weird about the whole subject. I thought maybe we'd better play along, just to keep you from losing it completely."

"I haven't been _that_ bad," Mark protested unconvincingly. "But," he added, after a moment's thought, "does this mean we could've done it at home in the den?"

"_No_," the judge shot back, a little sternly. "You're a lawyer, a member of the California Bar. You don't come in through the backdoor and you can look anybody else in the eye and say you are an officer of the court."

"An officer of the court," Mark repeated. almost under his breath, and then he took another long hard look around him at the room. "Who would've guessed?"

"Oh, I dunno," Hardcastle grinned again, "you were a pretty good jailhouse lawyer the last time you were here. I thought there was some potential." He reached over and slapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Come on, we got lunch to eat. You got platitudes to listen to."

"No fuss, huh?" Mark shook his head as he got to his feet.

"Well," the judge admitted, "just a little . . . and then you can get to work."

000

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000

**Author's postscript**: As to whether or not returning judges have to be sworn in each time, I have no idea. The facts be damned. I wanted it to happen ;-)


End file.
